


5 Dinners with the Lioness (Plus 1 with the Lion Cub)

by Llama1412



Series: Families of Choice [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Calanthe is kinda murderous okay, Eventual Relationships, Families of Choice, Gen, I love her, just in case, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: The story of Calanthe and Jaskier's unexpected friendship
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Families of Choice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660492
Comments: 103
Kudos: 805





	1. Calanthe’s Coronation Feast, 1230 (Calanthe: 14, Jaskier: 8)

**Author's Note:**

> So, in spending far too much time in the official Witcher Timeline, I discovered that Calanthe and Jaskier are actually around the same age! Calanthe was born in 1216, and Jaskier was born in 1222. Since his family is nobleborn, it's not unreasonable that they should cross paths. We don't know much else about his family, though, so I made stuff up. Apparently, Viscount as a courtesy title (i.e. with no responsibilities, since Jaskier doesn't seem to have any) can be used for the son of an Earl, so his dad's an Earl now.

This feast was supposed to be about her, a farewell to her father and a celebration of her coronation. Instead, as was wont to happen, men took over the night with their ridiculous traditions and posturing. Cintra had never required a man to rule, and she alone was heir to the throne, and yet, Calanthe’s new advisers – all men, she noted, appointed by her father and she had not yet had time to replace them – insisted on allowing suitors to plead their cases.

As if she would allow a man to impose his will on her. She was not one to live in anyone’s shadow.

In all honestly, she would rather return to her father’s sickbed than listen to another pimply-faced noble pretend he’d ever done anything worthwhile of remembering. If she were a man, she could simply order that all these idiots cease their prattling and let her begin her reign as queen the way she wanted to. But no, the crown may rest upon her head, but all of Cintra’s court was waiting to see which man they should bow to.

Calanthe hid a silent snarl in her winecup. She would show all of these fools that she was not to be messed with.

She wasn’t paying attention when the tittering first began somewhere to her left, but she looked up as the noise increased, expecting another suitor eager to proclaim their over-inflated tale of valor.

Well, the boy in front of her did seem to be eager, but he was far too young to be asking for her hand. The child cleared his throat, and bowed before her. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I wrote this for you.” And he began to recite a poem.

It was…well, Calanthe had never enjoyed poetry during her studies, and this was far from good poetry. Still, she found herself almost smiling as the boy compared her to a freshly picked apple on a hot afternoon, apparently high praise.

The entire room was watching him recite poetry to the queen, giggling and hiding smiles behind hands. And yet, this boy did not seem the slightest bit nervous under the attention. Instead, he stood straighter and spoke louder, until a sharp featured man pushed past the crowd and bowed quickly to Calanthe, speaking over the boy.

“My deepest apologies, Your Magesty! Earl de Lettenhove, at your service. I am so very sorry for the commotion my son has caused. I will remove him immediately and this will never happen again!”

“But da, I still have 6 stanzas left! I haven’t even gotten to her majesty’s fighting prowess!” The child pipped up, much to his father’s clear horror.

Calanthe raised her hand, allowing a slight smile on her lips. “Save it, Earl de Lettenhove. In fact, I would say this has been the high point of the evening.” She made eye contact with the grinning boy, “Julian, was it? Julian, why don’t you join me at the table? Your composition has been much more enjoyable than the other tales this evening. I believe I will enjoy your conversation.” Calanthe’s smile turned sharp as she met eyes around the room and dared anyone to object.

Julian took the invitation immediately, leaving his sputtering father behind. He skipped as he walked, all wide smiles and bright eyes. She raised her eyebrow at his father, staring him down. The Earl quailed immediately, bowing hastily and backing away. The crowd parted to let him through, and whispers and giggling followed quickly behind him.

Calanthe sipped her wine. “So, Julian. How does the rest of that poem go?”


	2. Calanthe’s Wedding Feast, 1232 (Calanthe: 16, Jaskier: 10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Calanthe’s wedding to King Roegner is the perfect place to preview the first draft of what later becomes a popular ballad about the Lioness of Cintra’s victory in the Battle of Hochebuz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In researching for this chapter, I discovered this awesome quote in Calanthe’s wikia: “Some gossipers believed that if Calanthe couldn't produce a male heir, Roegner planned to poison his wife and then take a younger, more fertile princess as queen and to avoid this, Calanthe would secretly assassinate her husband.”  
> Apparently it may have been made up, but I HAVE to find a way to use this, okay?
> 
> HUGE shoutout to Randarama for helping me with Calanthe’s cutting insults. They’re beautiful.

Calanthe had no interest in marriage, no interest in a man forcing his way into the forefront and suddenly believing he knew what was best for Cintra, as if she hadn’t been raised for the job. As if some duke from the Ebbing of all places, could understand why Cintra was considered the jewel of the north. 

The betrothal negotiations had taken far too long as it was, and Calanthe was _not_ in the mood for this wedding to drag on and on. That idiot Roegner, her soon to be husband, was guffawing loudly with a few knights to her left, and she had bite her cheek to keep from snapping at them.

Don’t get her wrong, Calanthe enjoyed a good celebration as much as anyone. And of course, she had always known that royal duties came with sacrifices. But she was unprepared for how much she despised this whole charade, this whole marriage. By the laws of Cintra, she _could_ have ruled alone, no men in her way. But part of her responsibility was to ensure Cintra’s line of succession was secure, and that meant children. It was simply unfortunate her husband was a necessary component for that. 

Briefly, she contemplated if it might be possible to get rid of him as soon as he fulfilled that duty. It would be very satisfying to drive a knife deep into his gut. But no, that would be far too obvious, anyway. Maybe poison, when the time came…

She was interrupted in her contemplation of her husband’s potential demise when a familiar figure approached the head table and bowed lowly before her. “Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. At your service, your majesty.”

Calanthe allowed her smile to show when the boy gave her new husband the barest of curtsies. “Julian. Have you prepared another poem for me?”

“I have, actually!” He bounced on his feet, mouth stretched into a broad grin. “Well, actually, this one is a song! About the undefeated Lioness of Cintra and your incredible victory in the Battle of Hochebuz!” He stumbled slightly over the last word. “I...um, I hope it’s okay, I asked the musicians to help? I can’t play very well yet, and every good song needs music!” Behind him, the lute and the harp players shifted uncertainly.

Roegner frowned deeply. “My Queen, the audacity of this child, really! Surely the guards can –” 

“Do nothing,” Calanthe cut him off. “I happen to like his audacity.” She waved her hand at the musicians. “Go ahead. Sing for me, Julian.”

Julian beamed at her, and the instruments started a simple melody. He sang, his voice high and bright and slowly growing louder and more firm. Calanthe smirked. The lyrics were simple, and Julian had trouble pronouncing Hochebuz again, but she enjoyed the refrain.

_The Lioness of Cintra stands tall_

_Her blades cross, the enemy falls_

_The Lioness of Cintra stands tall_

Julian repeated the chorus one final time, then held the last note as the lute and harp silenced at his signal. His high, clear voice seemed to resonate around the ballroom for a moment before the note faded away. Julian bowed deeply before her, and startled when someone in the back of the room began clapping. Calanthe clapped her own hands together, and suddenly the applause was overwhelming. Julian’s head whipped back and forth, following the sound with wide eyes.

She stood, and the crowd fell silent. “It would seem we have a true artist amongst us. You may be young, Viscount de Lettenhove, but you have potential. I look forward to seeing what comes of it.” Julian stared at her, mouth open with no sound coming out. “Perhaps you will join me at my table, in thanks for this truly unique wedding gift?”

“My queen,” Roegner immediately objected, of course. “I understand your…appreciation for this...gift. Unfortunately, the head table is quite full.”

“Is it?” Calanthe narrowed her eyes at him, then made a show of looking down the table on each side of her. “Surprising. Men of the South are hardly known for their balls, but it would seem you’ve found yours. Nailed to the chair, from the way you’re stuck so dearly to it.” Roegner sputtered, and she waved him away. “If you are so eager to prove your virility, go tussle with those fools from Nilfgaard. If nothing else, the plucked pheasant will provide you with a conversational partner more suited to your level.”

Her husband jumped to his feet, face flushed red in anger. She didn’t bother looking at him, just beckoned the child to take the now-open seat next to her. “Come, Julian. Sit beside me.” She took a sip of wine, staring down anyone who dared meet her eyes. Not that many did. Good. She would teach them not to challenge her. Let no one doubt that _she_ was the real power in Cintra.


	3. Interlude: The Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Julian de Lettenhove found his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know everyone is looking forward to the next Dinner installation! However, I realized there were a few things I needed to establish before we could get there. But soon!
> 
> In the meantime, here's a short from Jaskier's point of view!

Meeting Queen Calanthe changed his life. Literally.

In all honestly, he may have admired her even before they met. It’s just...she was so cool! She was only a little bit older than him, but she had her life figured out! Meanwhile, he was still deciding what to call himself. Julian was a nice enough name, but he wanted something more exciting, more memorable. He wanted a name that made people stop and look at him.

“Julian” never made anybody look. Even shrieked by a maid when he narrowly avoided knocking down her and everything she was carrying or yelled by a tutor fed up with his talking, “Julian” never made his mother or his father look up.

It was a busy household, was the thing. Their family was only minor nobility, but his parents were ever-ambitious. And Earl and Lady de Lettenhove did not have the time or patience for the whims of an attention-seeking young boy. So when Julian caused a scene at the grand coronation feast in Cintra, they were far from delighted.

Queen Calanthe may have been amused by the commotion Julian had caused, but his parents quickly reminded him that the hall had been filled with important contacts, and all had seen him embarrass his family. Well, his parents seemed to think he’d embarrassed himself as well by reciting his original poem to the Queen. But honestly, he found that instead of shame or guilt for upsetting his parents, he was riding high on the feeling of every eye in the room focused on him. It didn’t matter that some had been laughing and mocking – they’d been paying attention to him. And he’d spoken to Queen Calanthe! She’d even said she enjoyed his poem! 

He wanted that again. Not just Queen Calanthe’s attention – he would probably be lucky if she remembered him, but that was easy to ignore when he’d spent the evening sitting next to her – but everyone’s.

So when Calanthe earned the moniker the Lioness of Cintra for her victory in battle, he decided a simple poem wouldn’t be enough to commemorate this. He’d always loved music, and songs were just poetry to music, right?

Okay, so apparently the music part of that was a lot harder than he’d thought. His fingers were red and sore from plucking at lute strings, and even he cringed at some of the sounds he produced.

But that was okay. His tutor once said that ballads should have very basic melodies, so you could pay attention to the story. He could work with that. 

So when the Estate de Lettenhove was invited to Cintra for a royal wedding, Julian was ready. His ballad was pretty great, if he did say so himself. And the musicians were willing to play for him, after he’d asked them with big teary eyes. The copper pieces he slid to them might have helped too.

This time, when he stood before the Queen, she recognized him! She called him Julian and asked him to sing for her!

And people clapped! For him! People applauded his song! And then Queen Calanthe asked him to sit with her again, and why would he ever pass that up?

By the end of the night, he was positive they would be best friends forever. He didn’t get scolded this time either – apparently even though children should be seen and not heard, the Earl and Lady had received enough compliments on their son’s show to put them in high spirits. His mother even stroked her hand through his hair at bedtime!

If this was the power of music, then Julian would dedicate himself wholeheartedly to it.

––

A musical education was only proper for those of noble birth, according to his mother. But apparently that did not mean she appreciated the noise he made practicing. Or the Ode to Chores that he’d written. Or the shrill screeches his attempts at playing woodwinds produced. Or his constant humming and singing and rhyming and…

Well, what it really came down to is that his mother didn’t like much at all about his music.

But Queen Calanthe did. He had started writing to her the week after her wedding, and when he heard that Cintra had a new baby princess, he wrote a song just for her. 

He thought it was good. Apparently Queen Calanthe’s husband – it’s not that Julian forgot his name, it’s just that...maybe no one had ever told him? – disagreed, but Calanthe herself seemed to like it! 

He wasn’t sure when he first started thinking about leaving. The idea had probably lingered in the back of his mind of years, growing stronger each time his parents ignored him. There wasn’t even some big fight or commotion in the end. He just sat at the dinner table one evening and realized that the entire day had passed and his parents had never once focused their attention on him.

So he left. Not that evening – he did at least have the sense to wait and prepare. But he left, and if his parents ever noticed that he was gone, no one told him.

Cintra was an obvious destination, but it was also really his only choice. He didn’t know anyone anywhere else, and his food wouldn’t last forever. And Queen Calanthe would accept him. Probably.

She did, of course. He was pretty sure her husband hated him, for some reason? But Calanthe invited him to stay in the Cintran court, and no one crossed the Queen. And little Princess Pavetta _adored_ his lullabies, even if Calanthe forbid him from using any instruments after the incident with the harp and half the castle’s tapestries set aflame.

For the first time, he thought he might understand why people spoke of “home” with such soft emotions. He’d never had that before, and part of him cringed away from it. Surely it was a trick. Surely Destiny was about to drop the other shoe and this illusion of acceptance would melt away.

But day by day, Calanthe continued to give him free access to the palace. She was busy beyond belief – she was Queen, after all – but she seemed to genuinely want him here? And that was strange, that didn’t really happen to him. Usually the more time people spent with him, the _less_ they liked him.

Then, one day, Calanthe gestured for him to follow her – the Lioness has never needed words for her orders – and she led him to a bright ballroom, sunlight streaming in from large windows. In one corner of the room, a huge grand piano drew Julian’s attention. “I had someone tune it,” Calanthe’s voice was softer than he’d ever heard. “I know you’re still learning, but I thought it may be helpful to practice on something.”

This was Calanthe telling him he would always have a place here, he realized. He’d learned in the course of their letter writing that having been raised to rule Cintra, Calanthe put little value on words and sentiments. The blackest lie could cross one’s smiling lips easily enough – you couldn’t trust words, the Lioness declared (He disagreed. He rather thought that their variable meanings were part of what made words so important. But then, he was hoping to become a bard).

But actions – if there was one thing the Warrior Queen understood, it was action. And this was her action, to give Julian a place for his music, a place where he could practice and learn, a place in the heart of the castle. 

Calanthe cleared her throat, avoiding the wide beaming smile Julian sent her. “Perhaps you could teach Pavetta. Her current tutor’s talent is...less than inspiring.”

“I would be delighted,” Julian bowed to his Queen, his friend, and he knew that he was home.


	4. Jaskier’s Debut, 1241 (Calanthe: 25, Jaskier: 19; 1 year after meeting Geralt, Pavetta: 7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The invitation to perform at Cintra's Midwinter Festival was the perfect opportunity for Julian to debut his new stage name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter expands on events briefly referenced in [A Rose by Any Other Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23102482/chapters/55272856). You don’t need to read both to understand either,but they are connected.

The invitation to perform in Cintra’s court for the Midwinter Festival was the opportunity of a lifetime, and they both knew it. Calanthe was offering Julian exposure and coin the likes of which a bard of his reputation (or lack thereof) didn’t easily have access to, even if they came from the best of families.

But it would seem the Lioness still had a soft spot for him. A bubbly feeling rose in his chest as he stood bouncing on his feet, waiting for the queen to be available. Most royalty would meet guests in lavish chambers to show off their wealth, but Calanthe? She met him on the training field, sword still dripping with something he preferred not to look too closely at.

“Julian. Still alive, I see?” She passed her sword to a squire and began removing her gauntlets. “What was that name you responded to my notice with? Haven’t you dropped that nonsense yet?”

“I’m going by Buttercup now.” His smile wilted under Calanthe’s exasperated gaze. “Okay, I’m open to feedback. I’ve been trying to settle on a name for ages now, but nothing has quite clicked. And I like buttercups.”

“You’re not serious.”

He shrugged. “Every good artist has a stage name! And Julian is just boring! You know me – would such an ordinary name do me justice?”

She snorted. “You are not debuting in my court as Buttercup. It sounds absurd. Choose a better name.” He followed the queen to a shaded alcove, where a squire came up to remove her armor. 

“Mother?” Across the corridor, a young girl strode towards them, two maidservants trailing behind her.

“Come here, Pavetta. You remember Julian?” It had been a while since he had made it back to Cintra – life on the road with a Witcher was more hectic than most. But Pavetta still grinned up at him.

“Of course! And I heard your song! Mother thinks its annoying, but I like it!”

“It is annoying,” Calanthe fussed with Pavetta’s hair, brushing it back behind her ear. “Julian is going to perform for the Midwinter Festival. If he can choose an appropriate stage name, that is.”

He bent forward to be eye level with Pavetta. “I was _going_ to go by Buttercup, but your mom is emphatically not a fan.”

Pavetta giggled. “It does sound kinda of silly. Not really like a name.” He gasped in mock offense, and Pavetta grinned widely, one of her front teeth missing. “What about something that means Buttercup? Those are the pretty yellow flowers, right?”

Julian tapped his lip, thinking back on his language lessons at Oxenfurt. “Maybe Ranunkel? Hmm, maybe not.”

Pavetta gasped sharply, “what about Jaskier? My tutor said that’s the Elder Speech for Buttercup!”

“Ooooh, I like that! Sounds a little mysterious, right? I –” 

Calanthe’s voice cut across his musing. “Why is your tutor teaching you Elder Speech?” Her face was grim, but Pavetta rolled her eyes as if the Queen’s anger was inconsequential.

“Oh, really, Mother, don’t you believe that more knowledge is better than less? Besides, if you’re so worried about spies all the time, don’t you want to know what they say?” 

Calanthe’s scowl did not lessen. “It would seem I need to have words with your tutor.” She waved away Pavetta’s protest. “Julian, why don’t you let Pavetta help you unpack?” It was not a request. At his nod, the Lioness turned sharply, still gripping her sword as she marched off.

Silence followed in her wake. “Should we...stop her?” You wouldn’t know from the way his voice squeaked that he would be debuting as a bard of the court in just a few hours.

“She knows I’ll hate her if she kills him.” Pavetta’s whole being seemed to droop, though her shoulders remained straight in perfect princess posture. Julian frowned. He knew he’d been gone a while – on the road with Geralt, Oxenfurt before that – but this was not what he expected of the family he’d left behind.

Well, it was true that he’d made it back to Cintra less often since Pavetta’s father had sickened and passed. It wasn’t intentional! He still wrote regularly! It was just that Oxenfurt was quite a distance from Cintra, and when he struck out on his own, he’d wanted to truly make it on his own! So he’d started as a traveling bard far from the shelter of Cintra. Of course, then he’d actually starved on the road when audiences weren’t impressed with his work, and well – Geralt was fantastic inspiration, but money was money and the money from debuting in court was available _now_ . And maybe there was a little voice inside him claiming he was selling out on his values, that he should try to truly make it on his own. But fuck that, _Toss a Coin_ had taken off nicely and he hated being hungry. 

“Pavetta, why don’t you walk me to my room and we can chat?” He offered, holding out his hand. She glanced back at the maidservants flanking her, but she nodded and grasped his hand. “That was a great suggestion, Jaskier. I think I’ll go with it!”

That brought a smile to the girl’s face, at least. “What kind of songs will you play tonight?”

“Hmm, you know, I haven’t decided yet. Maybe you can help me choose?”

“Really?” Mind successfully diverted for the moment, Pavetta bounced with excitement as she led him to his rooms. 

––

He didn’t see Calanthe again before the feast. It wasn’t that he was nervous about what her reaction would be to his new Elven name, but...no, it was totally that as much as he loved her, he was still kind of scared of her. Which was totally reasonable! The Lioness of Cintra was a formidable foe, everyone knew that! And if there was one thing Calanthe hated more than threats against her authority, it was elves. Well, any non-humans, really, but elves had the misfortune of a connection to Cintra: namely, that Cintra’s capital was built on the ruins of an elven city. Calanthe did not appreciate anything that might threaten her legacy or her kingdom.

So maybe choosing an Elven name to debut in Cintra wasn’t his best idea. But _Jaskier_ just fit, he could feel it! As soon as Pavetta had suggested it, something had clicked within him. He was meant to be Jaskier, he just knew it.

And it’s not as if most of Cintra was educated about Elven Speech. Who would even recognize it?

...Aside from Calanthe, who already knew. Yeah, he was definitely a little bit scared. But Calanthe had always appreciated his audacity – maybe that would be enough to waylay the worst of her temper.

When the herald announced him, the Queen met his eyes, her lips turned down. But she said nothing, and Jaskier bowed to the assembled guests and began strumming his lute.

If he were later asked to share details about the night, Jaskier honestly wouldn’t be able to. The whole evening seemed to pass in a haze of music and giddiness and wine, and it seemed like only minutes after he’d begun his set that he was taking a break over a glass of ale. He must have sung _Toss a Coin_ at some point, which made sense – it had been on his set list, and it was the song that had made him famous. He vaguely remembered people singing along with it, actually! 

At any rate, _Toss a Coin_ meant that people kept coming up to him during his break, asking variations of _what is it like, traveling with a Witcher_ and _weren’t you scared, so close to monsters_ and _would you like to get a private drink later_. 

Jaskier was enjoying the attention and the ale when a tall, broad-shouldered man approached him. He was ruggedly handsome with short dark hair, and Jaskier half hoped that he was going to ask for a private drink later. So he was caught entirely off guard when the man opened with, “You wrote _The Lioness of Cintra_ , didn’t you?” 

“Uh, yes?” Jaskier cleared his throat. “Yes, actually, I did! I’m surprised you knew that though – I haven’t played it yet tonight.”

The man’s blue eyes seemed to twinkle at him. Jaskier felt mesmerized. “I’m Eist Tuirseach of The Skellige Islands. The Queen mentioned that the song was written by an old friend of hers. Figured it might be you.” He held out his hand to shake, and Jaskier desperately hoped his palms weren’t as sweaty as they felt.

He grinned broadly at Eist. “I’m surprised she mentioned it, honestly. I haven’t been at court in some time, and never as an official bard.”

Eist tilted his head in question. “But _The Lioness_ ballad?”

“Oh, yeah, I wrote that when I was pretty young. I mean, I’ve edited it since! Improved it! Uh, I haven’t played that version yet, so you wouldn’t know that, but – yeah.” Jaskier bit his lip to stop rambling. 

Eist smiled at him again, and Jaskier was definitely not imagining the twinkling in his eye this time. “I look forward to hearing it, then.” He turned to leave, and Jaskier abruptly realized that his break was over.

Well then. May as well start with a crowd pleaser. And if the pretty man from the Isles smiled broadly at him, that was just a bonus. Both of them ended the song gazing adoringly at the Queen, anyway – it was her song, after all.

––

Afterwards, once the feast had ended and the hall cleared, Jaskier found himself in Calanthe’s sitting room. He was lounging in front of the fire, sampling leftover sweetmeats from the feast. Calanthe had stepped out to check on Pavetta, as it was well past her bedtime, but she joined him shortly.

“What now, then? You’re staying?” Calanthe asked, pouring herself another glass of wine.

“I was planning to! If – I mean, that’s still okay, right?” 

The queen snorted. “Don’t be an idiot.” She offered him a glass of wine and took the seat next to him. “What about that Witcher you’ve attached yourself to, though? Or has he gotten sick of you already?”

“Wow, rude.” Jaskier pouted and eagerly downed his wine. “We split up for the winter. Apparently witchers go back to their stronghold for the snowy season? Geralt’s not much of a talker, though, and that was all he would tell me. But I’m gonna set out to find him in the spring!”

“Oh? Why?”

Jaskier spluttered. “What do you mean, why? Why wouldn’t I? I like Geralt! He’s honestly a really good man, and he doesn’t talk a lot, but I feel like he was starting to open up to me, and he’s just so interesting, Calanthe! I swear, I want to know everything about him! And not just to write songs! He’s just – he’s good people, you know? And no one treats him like it, and it’s wrong. But he really is just good and honorable and...he makes me believe in heroes, you know?” He looked up at Calanthe to see her smirking widely at him.

“Why Julian, you sound truly enamored! He must be quite something, indeed.” Her eyes sparkled with a teasing light.

Jaskier blushed brightly. “He is! The first adventure we went on, the one in the song – well, okay, my lyrics exaggerate what happened a bit, BUT he saved my life, Cal-Cal. He didn’t even like me, but he protected me, because it was the right thing to do.”

The humor fell from Calanthe’s face. “ _Never_ call me that again. But I will admit that your fascination with this witcher intrigues me. Perhaps you should share more stories about your time together. I’ll even listen to some of it.”

Jaskier laughed. Calanthe liked to pretend she had better things to do than listen to his rambling, but he knew that even when she appeared to be focusing on something else, she always kept part of her attention on him. And sure, maybe it was to make sure he didn’t get into trouble, but it _also_ meant that she did, in fact, pay attention to his stories. Sometimes she even brought them up in later conversations! 

Some part of him would always be that little boy, awed and overwhelmed with having the queen’s attention. But most of him soaked up that attention like a sponge – he always wanted more, more, more. And Calanthe understood that – if she no longer had the energy to deal with him, she would point him in the direction of courtiers or knights or others who were always up for a little entertainment. It had the side bonus of exposing him to all the good courtly gossip, as well, so he could report back on anything interesting. But mostly, it meant captive audiences, ready to fawn over him as much as he needed. And in the morning, he got to go back to his best friend, his very first friend, and Calanthe would smile that half-curve of her lip and tell him to ‘get on with telling her about his night, then’.

“All right,” he agreed, “but you have to tell me about Eist Tuirseach.”

Calanthe visibly startled. “Eist? What about him?”

First name basis, were they? Jaskier smirked. “I got a chance to talk to him tonight. Actually, he asked if I wrote _The Lioness_ ballad. _Before_ I performed the new and improved version.” He attempted to poke her in the side, and narrowly dodged her defensive slap. “He _also_ said that _you_ said it was ‘written by an old friend’.” He curled his fingers into air quotes, then clasped his hands in front of his heart and fluttered his eyes at her. “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever called me, and it wasn’t even to my face!”

“Oh shut up, or I’ll cut your tongue out.” The corner of Calanthe’s lip quirked up at his outraged squawk. “You pay up first. Tell me about the Witcher. And keep the romanticizing to a minimum, will you?”

“If I do, will you actually add some to your story about Eist?”

“No.”

  
“Then no deal. Your emotionally repressed self will just have to deal with how much I love Geralt, then.” Jaskier smirked, and started describing his friend in the most glamorous way possible. Mostly because he knew both Geralt _and_ Calanthe would hate it.


	5. Pavetta’s Betrothal Feast, 1249 (Jaskier: 27, Calanthe: 33, Pavetta: 15, Geralt: 89)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The man she indicated did indeed have the long white hair and golden eyes Julian fawned over. But she would have expected a Witcher to wear armor, especially if he were as uncomfortable with court as Julian claimed. Instead, he looked ridiculous in an assortment of clothes that clearly hadn’t been chose by anyone with fashion sense. His doublet didn’t even look like it fit!_
> 
> _Was this really how Julian was presenting his Witcher to her?_
> 
> Calanthe’s thoughts the night of Pavetta’s Betrothal Feast.

Calanthe had been bugging Julian to bring his Witcher to meet her for ages. He’d always begged off – apparently Geralt of Rivia wasn’t a fan of court. So she was truly caught by surprise when her Lady’s Maid, Marzanna, whispered that the Witcher of legend himself was here at Pavetta’s Betrothal Feast. 

The man Marzanna indicated did indeed have the long white hair and golden eyes Julian fawned over. But she would have expected a Witcher to wear armor, especially if he were as uncomfortable with court as Julian claimed. Instead, he looked ridiculous in an assortment of clothes that clearly hadn’t been chose by anyone with fashion sense. His doublet didn’t even look like it fit!

Was this really how Julian was presenting his Witcher to her? 

The argument that had broken out amongst two nobles provided a wonderful opportunity to engage the Witcher. She was actually a bit disappointed that Geralt backed down from the confrontation, but she noticed the way his gaze met Julian’s before he decided to play nice with the inflated egos of those idiots. Was the Witcher being considerate?

Well, they couldn’t have that. If she had to sit through this blasted feast, then she needed some entertainment. If there wasn’t going to be bloodshed – which, admittedly, was probably for the best – then she may as well chat with the object of Julian’s adoration.

After donning the irritating corset and gown ceremonies like this required she wear, Calanthe returned to the feast. Geralt of Rivia was sitting next to the throne at the head table, and he did not look delighted to be there. From up close, she could tell that his doublet most certainly did not fit – someone had tailored the shoulders to make it less obvious, but it could not close over his shirt. And, unless she was mistaken – and she wasn’t – the buttercup pattern on the doublet was one Julian had commissioned for himself several months ago. Was he really the one who had dressed Geralt? How could someone who trolloped about looking like _that_ possibly think that this looked good?

Well, she had always known Julian was an idiot. And the Witcher – well, he was willingly wearing Julian’s ridiculous outfit, and apparently he was guarding Julian from the consequences of his reckless approach to love free of coin. It would seem he was just as gone on Julian as the idiot was on him.

This had potential.

And with a Witcher here, surely this evening would proceed according to plan. If only the Witcher would cooperate. No wonder Julian liked him – even when he was being annoyingly unobliging, he managed to be charming. 

Throughout their conversation – largely led by her, as Pavetta was pretending she didn’t exist and Geralt barely averaged three words an answer – Calanthe realized that the Witcher didn’t know why Julian had invited him. 

Oh, she had no doubt he truly did need the protection – if the idiot couldn’t learn discretion, it was his own fault he got into trouble – but it was obvious he was finally introducing his Witcher to Calanthe. Well, obvious to her. It seemed Julian hadn’t bothered to inform Geralt.

_Men_. Always such idiots.

It was a shame they had this ridiculous feast to endure. She was sure he’d be interesting to have a _real_ conversation with. Or maybe a spar – she wondered if he’d have the balls to fight her truly or if he would insult her by assuming her reputation was unearned. Though, based on his response to her complaint about the patriarchy, he might see the honor in facing her truly. Perhaps she could find out later – Geralt would presumably be staying with Julian (and from the looks of it, he would be surprised at the location of those lodgings), and Julian typically made a point to stay for at least several days when he returned. She hoped he’d wrangle the Witcher into staying as well.

She could use the buffer between her and Pavetta. Calanthe hated that they couldn’t seem to get through to each other anymore. They had been so close once – Pavetta used to follow her around in lightweight child’s armor, pretending she was riding into battle with the Lioness. Calanthe would make a dent in the absurd amount of paperwork running a kingdom required, and Pavetta would play at her feet. Sometimes, Pavetta would convince her to take a break and “fight” – when she was young, this meant wrestling on the floor, but as she grew older, it evolved into improvised sword fights and favors for whoever scored a hit first.

It had been a long time since they’d spent time together like that. In fact, Calanthe realized as the night progressed, somewhere along the way, Pavetta had grown into a young woman she hardly knew at all. But maybe, if she handled this right, she could have the chance to get to know this new Pavetta standing before her. 

And then that blasted Witcher had to go and claim the Law of Surprise. What sort of idiot tempted Destiny after that display of damage?

Guaranteed, Calanthe was going to have to clean up _another_ mess caused by an idiotic man. Typical. At least she had a semi-competent partner in Eist now. It was not the worst way the evening could have gone, she supposed. But that did not mean she had to look forward to the trainwreck Destiny wanted to bring onto her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually has a spin-off AU because I realized I set the stage perfectly to have an everyone lives in Cintra story??? And I didn't??? So that had to be rectified. So if you're interested, check out [Geralt of Cintra nee Rivia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582875)!


	6. Post-Episode 6: Rare Species, 1262 (Jaskier: 40, Calanthe: 46, Ciri: 12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Mountain Break Up™, Jaskier returns to Cintra. Calanthe tries to figure out why her friend is so downtrodden and Ciri distracts her uncle from his heartache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to lutesanddandelions and the Yennskier discord folks for helping me understand oceans.

Typically, when Julian returned to Cintra, he was tired from his travels but excited to be home. So Calanthe knew that something was wrong when Julian managed to slip into her throne room with no production whatsoever. Even when he herald announced him, his flourished bow was clearly half assed. Calanthe frowned at him.

“What in Melitele’s tits happened to you?” Someone in the audience chamber gasped at her crassness, and Calanthe glared out at the observers. Quickly, the room emptied as people found somewhere else to be.

Julian didn’t even crack a smile. Something was very, very wrong.

She sighed and rose, waving off her aides. “We need a drink,” she declared. She strode out of the throne room, and Julian obligingly walked along just behind her. But he was completely silent, and she wasn’t sure that had ever happened before. Change of plans: this called for backup.

She changed direction and headed for the school rooms. She’d excuse Ciri from lessons for the day and sic her on Julian to cuddle him until he stopped being so eerily quiet.

As soon as she saw him, Ciri hugged her “Uncle Jaskier” tightly. He lifted her from her feet and spun her around in the air with the first smile Calanthe had seen on his face. When Julian set her down, Ciri looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Calanthe smiled to herself. Ciri always had been observant. And maybe Julian would actually answer her. And if not, she had a few bottles of wine tucked away. They’d figure it out.

Julian smiled a very fake smile. “What do you mean?” They both gave him an unimpressed look and faced with child and grandmother staring him down, Julian deflated. “Okay, I’m a bit out of sorts. I just…” He bit his lip, and glanced at Calanthe. 

This had something to do with the Witcher, she realized. That’s why he was hesitant to speak – she had banned any and all mention of the blasted Witcher and his foolish ploy with Destiny. If he was scared of saying something he shouldn’t, she could at least help with that. “Someone hurt you?” Calanthe’s voice was as soft as she could make it, which admittedly was still pretty abrasive.

Julian nodded. “Yeah. I care about him a lot and he–he said things to hurt me on purpose because he was hurt by someone else.”

Ciri crossed her arms. “You deserve better than that.”

“So,” Calanthe said, idly imagining Witcher blood painting her steel blade. “What would help? If you need to talk, I volunteer someone else, but I can provide booze and entertainment.”

Laughing, Julian shook his head. “Your kind of entertainment is usually a bit bloodthirsty for me. But I would like not to think, if possible.”

Since Calanthe’s suggestion had in fact been to work out his feelings with a weapon, she let Ciri take charge. Ciri nodded at her and bit her lip for a moment, thinking. “Oh! Could you help me, actually? I was borrowing Mousesack’s spyglass when I was playing in town yesterday, and I realized this morning that I lost it! Can you help me find it?”

Julian looked at her suspiciously, probably suspecting that she had made up the tale, but he took bait and let himself be distracted. “Can’t imagine what kind of game you were playing with a spyglass, but sure. Where shall we start? Are you coming too?” He turned to Calanthe.

She contemplated the idea. Escaping the castle for the day did sound rather nice. They could even sneak out and avoid the guards – truly have a free day to distract themselves with. After she fetched the wine, of course – Julian may be willing to do this sober, but Calanthe was not.

“Let’s change into something less eye-catching, shall we? I know that’s difficult for you Julian, so you wear whatever you like. But Ciri and I should go undercover,” she winked. “Perhaps those clothes you like to wear when you sneak out to play in the square?”

Ciri gaped at her. “You know about that?”

Calanthe just laughed and led the way towards their chambers. They each quickly changed, and Calanthe added the bottles of wine to her bag. She stepped into the hall wearing simple, drab clothes – which may or may not have just been her brown riding pants with a white tunic. Her hair had already been twisted into a crown braid by her servants this morning, so all she had needed to do was remove her crown and any distinctive jewelry. Calanthe should be able to go out unnoticed now.

“So,” Julian asked, still wearing an ostentatious blue doublet. “How exactly do you plan to sneak out of the castle? The Queen isn’t exactly unnoticeable, even dressed like – is that really what you think peasants dress like?” Calanthe scowled and shushed him.

“There’s a secret passage out of the castle,” Ciri whispered, “but we’d have to access it from the main hall, and that’s going to be crowded right now, even without audiences cancelled for the day.”

Calanthe smirked at her companions. “Not to worry, my child. There’s another passage that opens from the music room and lets out in the stables.”

Ciri blinked at her in astonishment. Julian squawked indignantly. “There’s a secret passage in _my_ music room, and you never told me!?”

Calanthe laughed. “Really, Julian, it’s not as if you have the subtlety to sneak anywhere. And Ciri, dear girl, why do you think I always catch you when you sneak out?”

“You don’t!” Ciri insisted.

“I do when you need to be caught,” Calanthe smirked. Ciri’s face was priceless as she tried to determine if that meant her grandmother truly did know every time she snuck away. Of course she knew – Eist may have taught Ciri the secret passages around the castle, but who did she think taught him? 

––

From the stables, it was easy to go unnoticed as they made their way into town. Traffic from the castle was busy heading to and fro, and they blended in with the crowd, until Ciri tugged them to step out into the square. “Let’s start in the market!”

“Lots to do with a spyglass in a market,” Julian teased. Calanthe chuckled as he let Ciri drag him by the wrist to different stalls, Julian soon running around with as much delight as Ciri. They were truly doing an awful job at bring discreet, but as long as she remained out of sight, it would likely be fine. The townfolk practically expected their Princess to “sneak” out to play. Calanthe was fairly certain Ciri thought she was going unnoticed, but sometimes, nobility just shows.

And Ciri was so very noble. The dear girl had dedicated herself to cheering Julian up, and she was proceeding with the same determined stubbornness that Calanthe had nurtured in her. The sunny grins on both Ciri and Julian’s faces as they came upon a stall with lion-themed toys for children brought a smile to Calanthe’s own face. 

While they were busy playing, Calanthe went ahead and bought some meat pies to go with the wine she had packed. She wrapped the pies and tucked them away before going to fetch her wayward children. Only one was an actual child, but she’d known Julian long enough to know that he would never grow up.

He even still looked young. Calanthe was not at all bitter that he still claimed it was his “dedicated skin care routine” that kept him looking a decade younger than he was. The bastard had clearly just lucked into good genes.

At any rate, Julian certainly behaved less than the age he looked, so it truly was like carting around two children as Calanthe corralled them away from the market. “Come on, we’re having dinner by the sea,” she ordered.

Ciri cheered, but Calanthe noticed that Julian’s smile dimmed again. Strange. Usually Julian loved the sea – he said it was the only thing he’d liked about his parents’ estate, that it was close to the sea. 

Fortunately for him, Cintra’s capital city was situated on the coast. They walked together out of the bustle of the city and the earth turned rocky under their feet as they got closer to the sound of water. Before long, they could see the foamy waves crest before crashing into the shore. 

This particular beach wasn’t the best for a day out – the sand here was coarser than other beaches along the Cintran coastline but still fine enough for bare feet. The water was deceptively deep, sloping shallowly for some metres before dropping off in darkness – this depth allowing larger ships access to Cintra’s port. Rip currents created inky black channels periodically down the beach. They looked calm on the surface but everyone knew were hiding currents faster and stronger than any man could hope to swim against, just as dangerous as any monster.

Nonetheless, it had always been Calanthe’s favorite place to go – the first place she’d brought Eist when he’d made Cintra his home. 

Ciri took off at a run across the beach. She kicked off her shoes and rolled up her trouser legs so she could wade into the water. She couldn’t go far before the current would yank at her feet and attempt to pull her off balance. So Ciri stayed in the foaming white surf between the channels, where it was safe, and let the water flow over her feet and ankles. She had always loved the water.

As well she should, Calanthe thought fondly. It was in her blood, and in her family. Calanthe and Eist were both people of the sea, though the seas they called home were vastly different. In Skellige, the sea was icy and cold – swimming in it was a fools’ errand. Meanwhile, Cintra’s tropical climate gave its beaches warm, shining waters. Diving was a competitive sport here – Calanthe herself was fond of pearl diving when she had time.

But that was for another day. Today, they were here for Julian. While Ciri shrieked with laughter and played in the waves, Calanthe found a suitable spot and laid out the dinner selection she’d purchased. She also poured herself and Julian a generous serving of wine, and she wasn’t surprised when he took several quick gulps in succession.

“You know, you might enjoy wine more if you stopped to taste it,” Calanthe teased and passed Julian a pie.

“Yeah,” Julian pulled the glass away with a sigh and refilled it. “Just needed that first hit. I promise I shall savor the rest!”

Calanthe snorted. She called Ciri back to eat and the three of them chatted easily over the sounds of the sea. Yet, while Julian smiled widely at Ciri and matched her enthusiasm tit for tat, Calanthe could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“If you’ve finished, Ciri, you can go back to playing. Just stay within sight.” Ciri met her eyes and nodded, leaving her shoes behind and cartwheeling down the beach until she got close to the water.

Calanthe shook her head at the child and turned to her other companion. “All right, talk to me, Julian. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“I’m not allowed to be sad after getting my heart broken?” His tone was joking, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ve been heartbroken every month of your life since you were 16,” Calanthe said bluntly. “You fall in love as easily as the wind blows, Julian. Why is this different?”

He shook his head. “It just is, Callie.” Calanthe frowned, but decided threatening him over the nickname would be counter productive at the moment. “Geralt… I asked him to come to the coast with me. Before he–”

“Hurt you. On purpose.” If that Witcher ever dared come back here, Calanthe had some choice words for him. And also a dagger.

Julian hummed. “It was just a bad adventure all around. But I wanted – I thought maybe if we could go to the coast together, we could rest and recover and be ready for what the world throws at us, you know?” Julian’s voice was choked and wet. “That didn’t work out.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Calanthe offered him more wine. 

Julian smiled weakly at her. “I love him, Calanthe. Not – not like I do with everyone. Geralt is special.”

“Hmm,” was all Calanthe could voice. Special wasn’t exactly what she would call it.

“I know I’ll forgive him eventually. I’m even pretty sure he didn’t mean it. But he still said it.”

“Yeah.” Calanthe put her hand on his shoulder. There was nothing else she could say – she wasn’t really the comforting sort. But this was Julian – the least she could do was try. She squeezed his shoulder, then shifted to lean into his side.

Julian sighed and leaned his head against hers. They spent the rest of the evening like that: sitting together, watching Ciri play in the waves. It didn’t fix fix Julian’s broken heart, but Calanthe hoped that it at least helped make it bearable.


	7. Plus One: Dinner with the Lion Cub, 1264 (Jaskier: 42, Geralt: 104, Ciri: 13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri wants to know why her Destiny was kept secret from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, y'all! I cannot believe we finally made it, and also how big this 'verse has grown!

Sitting around a small camp fire in Brokilon Forest, Ciri gnawed her lip. Since it was currently just her and Uncle Jaskier, now was probably the best chance she’d get to ask the question that had been dogging her thoughts. “I don’t understand,” Ciri said softly. “Why did Grandmother forbid mention of Geralt? Why would she want to keep my Destiny from me? Wouldn’t it have been better for me to be prepared?”

Uncle Jaskier sighed. “She was scared, Ciri. Calanthe never had many who were important to her. Cintra was her whole life. So those few – well, you know how protective she could be!” He lost his half smile and his shoulders slumped forward. “After your mother died, after she lost Pavetta, Calanthe was scared of losing anyone else.” He shrugged wryly at Ciri. “I don’t know if that makes it better. I didn’t always agree with – well, actually with Calanthe  _ or _ Geralt’s way of handling the whole Law of Surprise thing, but I get why they were both stupidly bullheaded about it.”

Ciri giggled a little. Geralt definitely had stubborness in common with Grandmother. 

Uncle Jaskier played with a stick, poking it into the fire. “You know, there was actually one night in Cintra where talk of Geralt wasn’t forbidden. Do you want to hear about it? You were very young.”

She nodded eagerly. She hadn’t known  _ anything _ about Geralt when Grandmother had told her to find him. Even now, she still knew relatively little about him, though she could feel he was connected to her. Ciri hadn’t really decided what she thought of Destiny, but she could tell that Geralt’s care for her wasn’t  _ just _ because they were bound together. He had stayed out of her life for so long and probably would have avoided her forever if he could have. But now that they had found each other, Geralt had thrown himself into his role as caretaker – which was probably a good thing, because as little as Geralt seemed to know about how humans functioned, he was still better than Uncle Jaskier. Stories of the time Uncle Jaskier had been responsible for looking after Ciri’s mother as a baby and  _ lost _ her were notorious. Grandmother had never let him take care of Ciri without a chaperone. Sometimes, Ciri thought it was because she wanted an excuse to get away from Court and hang out with her friend, but Uncle Jaskier had also once given Ciri a flask of vodka when she’d said she was cold. It had warmed her up – but the coughing and the eye-watering burn was  _ not _ worth it.

And yet, when Uncle Jaskier looked at her softly and began telling his story, she felt entirely safe by his side.

“I don’t know how much you remember about when your parents died. But you were in a bad state, screaming with nightmares.” He brushed her hair behind her ear. “One night, Eist noticed that when your nursemaid hummed one of my songs, it calmed you down. So he sent for me immediately. I was already on my way, of course, as soon as I heard about – well, anyway, he had his hands full because Calanthe was also in a bad state.” Uncle Jaskier cleared his throat. “I arrived as soon as I could, and you were still so young, but when I started singing, you quieted a bit.

“At first, I thought it was just familiarity. I always sang to you when I came home, and Pavetta and I used to turn her poetry into songs all the time, so she probably sang to you a lot too. So I sang a lullaby I’d sung for you a thousand times before. Only you got all fussy again, crying and shrieking. I was honestly just desperate when I started singing about Geralt.” He gave a bashful shrug, as if everyone defaulted to singing about their friend when they panicked. “But you calmed then, as soon as I sang Geralt’s name.”

Ciri tilted her head, almost wishing she could remember it. It was easy to forget that apparently she had been tied to Geralt her whole life – but the idea of her Destiny comforting her when she needed it was a nice one. She licked her lips. “What song was it?”

Uncle Jaskier laughed.  _ “Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of Plenty~” _ He cocked his head to see if she recognized it, but Ciri shook her head in confusion. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. That was my first hit song and it was all about Geralt, so that night was probably the only time it was sung in Cintra.” He shook his head, smiling sadly. “Calanthe hated the song. Well, actually, Geralt hates it too, but I think that’s just because people still toss coins at him, to this day.” 

An image of Geralt getting showered with coins floated across Ciri’s mind and she giggled. “You’ll have to teach it to me.”

He grinned at her. “Anyway, even I can only sing that one song so many times in a row, so I went through my whole catalogue. Any song about Geralt calmed you, as if you knew your Destiny would do anything to protect you.” Uncle Jaskier licked his lips. “Since Geralt brought you such comfort, I wanted you to have a song that you could connect you to your Destiny. And it had to be something Calanthe would approve of, so Geralt couldn’t be mentioned. Soooooo,” He drew the word out, “I had to get inventive in my composing!”

There was no real reason for the sudden concern pricking up Ciri’s neck. Uncle Jaskier getting inventive didn’t  _ always _ end in disaster. Just often. 

At that moment, Geralt entered the forest clearing behind Jaskier, on the far side from Ciri. He had a deer slung over his shoulders, which meant Ciri’s nose would be assaulted with the stink of deer blood from his clothes in a few hours, but she did like venison. She shifted on her tree stump to make room.

“You remember this one, don’t you?” Jaskier, who apparently did not hear Geralt approach, started singing. 

_ There stood the White Wolf in the winter wind, _

_ Yellow eyes bright in the pale moonlight. _

_ A hunter approaches and the wolf is pinned, _

_ His pack’s attacked, blind in the fire light _

Geralt froze, still holding the deer, but Ciri hardly noticed. She was focused on her uncle as soon as he began singing and she suddenly noticed a smile growing on her cheeks. She  _ did _ remember this song. In fact, she’d been singing it to herself in the past weeks of her flight. It gave her something to focus on and it was comforting. The words came easily and Ciri’s voice joined the song.

_ His brothers fall, the White Wolf’s pack near an end, _

_ The snow grows red as wolven blood pours _

_ Then change approaches, coming ‘round the bend, _

_ A lion cub bursts out and fiercely roars  _

Ciri’s eyes welled up as she sang about how the lion cub defended the wolf, but was injured by the hunter anyway. Finally, the White Wolf freed himself and attacked the hunter. With the help of the lion cub, the wolf triumphed over the hunter, avenging his pack and leaving him and the lion cub the only ones left.

Ciri had always known the lion cub was supposed to represent her and she’d always paid special attention to the verses about the lion fighting fiercely against the hunter because of it. But now, the final verse seemed so much more significant.

_ There stood the White Wolf in the winter wind _

_ Last standing of his pack _

_ He roams the world end to end, _

_ Cub nestled on his back _

Ciri’s voice was rough with tears by the last note, and she threw herself at Uncle Jaskier in a hug. “I never knew,” She shook here head, cheek rubbing against her uncle’s doublet. “You wrote it so I’d feel safe with the White Wolf, didn’t you? With Geralt?”

Uncle Jaskier’s hands came up to stroke through her hair and rub her back soothingly. “I don’t know what I believe about Destiny,” he said finally. “But you and Geralt were always going to be part of each other’s lives. Calanthe and I have been – were,” He stopped suddenly, swallowing back tears. “We were friends for most of our lives. We’re family – and that means you and I are family, but it also means you and Geralt are family, because we’re a package deal.”

Ciri caught sight of Geralt over Uncle Jaskier’s shoulder. He was still frozen in place, but he was staring at Uncle Jaskier with the softest expression she’d ever see on his face. A smile crinkled her wet eyes, and for a moment, she thought of what life might have been like if the Law of Surprise had never happened, if Geralt had never been essentially banished from Cintra and from Ciri’s life, if Uncle Jaskier had dragged Geralt back with him every winter when he came home. 

“Why did Destiny have to mess it all up?” She asked quietly.

The arms around her squeezed just the slightest bit tighter. “I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s Destiny’s fault. Calanthe and Geralt are two very stubborn people who think the world is out to get them and mostly respond to threats by stabbing them. Honestly, even without Destiny, I don’t think they’d have gotten along very well. They’re  _ too _ similar, really, but their personal codes would put them at odds. But,” Uncle Jaskier drew back and cupped her face. “While they had different ways of doing it, both of them were just trying to keep you safe. That’s what family does.”

Ciri smiled slowly, then glanced at Geralt behind Jaskier and raised her eyebrows. Uncle Jaskier noticed and twisted to see what had caught her attention. “Oh good, is that dinner? Why are you just standing around with it? I’m starving, let’s get started!”

Geralt just stared at him and Ciri giggled. “I think you accidentally broke him.”

Uncle Jaskier’s brow creased and he got up, waving in Geralt’s face. “Geralt? You okay there?”

Geralt licked his lips and said roughly, “I didn’t know you – I thought I’d messed it all up. After the mountain.”

Her uncle pursed his lips. “Well, it definitely wasn’t  _ good.  _ But I’ve already accepted your apology, Geralt. And yeah, I’m gonna need time to learn to trust you again. But Geralt,” Uncle Jaskier took Geralt’s hands in his own. “Even when you hurt me, you didn’t stop being family. That’s not how family works. Sometimes we mess up, but we’re always here for each other.”

Geralt swallowed audibly and abruptly pulled Uncle Jaskier into him with stiff arms. Her uncle huffed a laugh, but he wrapped his arm around Geralt, and reached out to Ciri to pull her into the hug. When she touched him, Geralt moved and his warm hand settled in the center of her back, a solid and steady presence. 

Yeah, Ciri thought, this was what family was. Her family was smaller now than it had been, but they were still here for her, just as she would always be there for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are they in Brokilon Forest? Find out in Found Family Plottiness! Or, if you want to see more of the non-plotty (well, not part of the overarching 'verse plot) stories, check out the rest of the Families of Choice series!  
> The song lyrics are something I adapted based on The Wolf in the Winter Wind by Tim Vallie.


End file.
